But there, a few hundred feet away, were the Germans. They were not free. Their souls did not commune with God. Their hearts knew not the immense joy of this wonderful spring. They were still slaves, and they would not let us alone in our freedom. They thrust themselves over the fair extent of our country and would not retire. They must be driven out before we could embark upon a life of peace. We were ready to drive them out. We were awaiting the order to leap at their throats and show them what Free Russia could do. But why was the order postponed? Why wait? Why not strike while the iron was hot? Yet the iron was allowed to cool. There was a flood of talk in the rear; there was absolute inactivity at the front. And as hours grew into days and days into weeks there sprang forth out of this inactivity the first beginnings of fraternization. “Come over here for a drink of tea!” a voice from our trenches would address itself across No Man’s Land to the Germans. And voices from there would respond: “Come over here for a drink of vodka!” For several days they did not go beyond such mutual invitations. Then one morning a soldier from our ranks advanced openly into No Man’s Land, announcing that he wanted to talk things over. He stopped in the centre of the field, where he was met by a German and engaged in an argument. From both sides soldiers flocked to the debaters. “Why do you continue the war?” asked our men. “We have overthrown the Tsar and we want peace, but your Kaiser insists on war. Get rid of your Kaiser and then both sides will go home.” “You don’t know the truth,” answered the German. “You are mistaken. Why, our Kaiser offered peace to all the Allies last winter. But your Tsar refused to make peace. And now your Allies are forcing Russia to continue in the war. We are always ready for peace.” I was with the soldiers in No Man’s Land and saw how the German argument impressed them. Some of the Germans had brought vodka with them, which they gave to our soldiers. While they were returning to the positions, engaged in heated arguments over the story of the Kaiser’s peace offer, Commander Kudriavtzev came out to rebuke them. “What are you doing? Don’t you know that the Germans are our enemies? They want to entrap you.” “Kill him!” a voice shouted in the crowd. “We have been deceived long enough! Kill him!” The Commander got out of the way quickly before the crowd had caught up the shout of the ruffian. This incident, when the revolution was still in its infancy, was an early symptom of the malady to which the Russian army succumbed in months to come. It was still an easily curable malady. But where was the physician with foresight to diagnose the disease at its inception and conquer it while there was time?